


The Spirit of Christmas

by E_Salvatore



Series: Holiday CaKe [2]
Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: A Visit from St. Nicholas, Cake, Christmas, F/M, Fruitcake, Hetty is awesome, Mistletoe, Orphanage, That is what we call the ship yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/pseuds/E_Salvatore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So they're just lying the darkness, thinking about bringing Hetty fruitcake because apparently that's the kind of stuff they do now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Christmas

"Do you think Sam was actually serious about Kwanzaa?"

She turns and rests on her side to face him, skepticism evident in her voice. It's still a new thing, for them to be able to face each other in the dead of the night and talk about their friends, their family, their shared life. She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of it.

He chuckles and mimics her position so that they're both facing each other. "I don't know," He shrugs. "Maybe."

"What do you mean you don't know?" She props up her head with one hand. "He's your partner. He's Sam and you're Callen. You guys know everything about each other."

"Kens," His voice holds a hint of laughter and amusement. "We're work partners, not life partners. Besides, I don't even know everything about _you_."

She wonders if that means something, if it means that _they_ 're life partners and he doesn't even know everything about her so of course he doesn't know everything about his work partner. But she's learned to shrug these questions off, to push them out of her mind, to lock them up in a box and dump it in the middle of the Pacific.

So maybe she's a little dramatic.

It beats staying up at night wondering what they are and where they're going. So she shrugs, as if conceding his point and that's that for Sam and Kwanzaa. She still isn't entirely sure he was joking though. Sam had gotten really frustrated with Christmas this year for some reason.

"What's Hetty doing tomorrow?" He asks as she lies down on her back, her hand sore from propping her up.

"I don't know," She shrugs. No one ever really knows, not when it comes to Hetty, especially on a holiday. "Why?"

"I was just thinking we could bring her fruitcake." He answers casually as if the idea has just popped into his mind and means nothing.

The last time he spoke of bringing Hetty fruitcake was a month ago, when they'd finally gotten their act together. It was supposed to be a thank-you to their superior for helping Kensi work things out and convincing her to give this a shot.

"Do we even have any?" We, because they're in this together. They have a kitchen and a pantry that may or may not hold fruitcake. Probably not, but it would be on them then, not getting any, because they're both responsible for mundane things like picking up seasonal things from the store.

"Probably not." He shrugs. "We could swing by the store."

"On Christmas morning?" She laughs.

"What's wrong with Christmas morning?" He retorts and she sputters incredulously, saying something about stores being sold out and people picking up stuff and the likes. She's not sure how much of it is true, just that three years ago she'd run out of food and her trip to the store had been an absolute _nightmare_.

"You're not saying you're afraid of a little crowd, are you?" He challenges her with a smirk, eyes dancing with amusement.

So they go to the damn store because she's Kensi Blye and if she's ballsy enough to do whatever it is she's doing with G Callen, then she can handle a packed store.

They drive up and down in search of an open store with fruitcake and when they finally find one, it's not even that crowded.

* * *

They catch Hetty just as she's leaving.

"Hetty!"

The old woman tears her eyes away from the lock she'd been focused on and greets them with a smile. "Mister Callen, Miss Blye," She nods in acknowledgement, dropping her keys into her purse. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" She tries to sound enthusiastic and chipper because that's how she usually sounds and because it's Christmas and that's how everyone sounds. Callen throws in an echo of her greeting and it seems to do the charm because Hetty lingers by her front door with a smile.

"I must say, this is quite the surprise." Hetty tells them, her tone clearly indicating that it isn't an unpleasant one.

"We were around the neighborhood," Callen jokes. Hetty's neighborhood isn't the kind of neighborhood that you'd be around unless you had a very specific reason, and in all the years that she has lived there, she's been their only reason. "Thought we'd drop by."

"We brought fruitcake." Kensi announces brightly, holding up the evidence. Hetty's eyes light up as the young agent approaches and hands her the cake.

"Oh, goodie! That's another one, then." She accepts the gift and picks up a bulging bag at her feet that neither agent had really noticed. "Thank you, dearies."

Kensi realizes with a short peek that the bag is full of cakes and festive treats as Hetty adds theirs to her collection.

"Going somewhere?" Callen inquires casually, having caught sight of the contents too. Hetty struggles with the heavy bag – it's not very obvious but she is constantly readjusting the bag – and Callen steps forward to help her.

"Thank you," Hetty smiles graciously as she leads them to her car. "Yes, actually. I have a standing appointment on Christmas these days."

"Quite the sweet tooth." Kensi quips, referring to the boxes of cookies and candy, subtly fishing for more information. Hetty turns around with a look that says she is aware of Kensi's prying but doesn't quite mind.

"I imagine all children are, Miss Blye."

Callen falters in his stride. He quickly recovers and places the bag in Hetty's trunk. "Children?" He asks nonchalantly.

"Children, Mister Callen. Who else would I be reading to on Christmas Day?"

It's one of the rare times Hetty has left herself vulnerable to an attack but maybe it's just a sign of trust. Neither agent brings up the other person she had once read to and Hetty seems happy.

"So you're bringing food and reading to children?" Kensi double-checks, a picture forming in her mind. Hetty nods and slips into the driver's seat, leaving the door open for conversation.

"Hetty…" Callen speaks hesitantly, an undecipherable look on his face. Hetty seems prepared for what he says next. "Are you visiting orphans?"

Her light smile from earlier turns into a mask of seriousness as Hetty nods just once. "Yes, Mister Callen. Indeed I am."

Callen turns to Kensi in a moment of silent communication and she catches on quickly, indicating her agreement with a nod and an encouraging smile. Hetty watches them silently until Callen turns to her.

"Do you have room for two more?"

The elderly woman smiles warmly. "There's always room for more, Mister Callen. You can drive behind me."

* * *

Hetty leads them across town and past rows and rows of rundown houses and Callen keeps one hand in hers the entire drive, seeking comfort as memories of his past haunt him. She meets his occasional glances with reassuring smiles and supportive squeezes of his hand, internally scrambling to make sense of his sudden decision to spend Christmas in a place much like the many shelters he'd been handed off to with children who have lived most of their young lives just like he had.

They finally arrive at one of the older houses on this side of town, a yellowed two-story building with peeling paint and rusty gates. Hetty agilely climbs out of her car and both agents follow her lead, quickly joining her to help her with the bags of food she's brought along. Apparently that one bag from earlier isn't the only one as they find themselves helping Hetty unload five similar-looking, heavy bags filled with different kinds of food.

"I receive a lot of hampers this time of the year." Hetty states almost defensively when she catches sight of Kensi's questioning look at the abundance of food. "Come along now," She picks up a bag and makes her way inside, pushing past the unlocked gate. Kensi and Callen juggle two bags each and follow after their superior at a slow pace, taking care not to tilt the overflowing bags in the wrong direction, wary of dropping Hetty's gifts.

By the time they catch up to their boss, she's conversing pleasantly with a woman who introduces herself to them as Claire, a middle-aged brunette who runs the place.

"It's always so nice to see new faces." She gushes, ushering them in. The agents quickly take in their surroundings as they have grown accustomed to doing. Yellowed walls printed with stains of every kind, mismatched furniture with holes here and there, noticeably worn toys scattered throughout the living room on every surface in sight.

It's quiet, suspiciously quiet for a place with twenty-seven children, as Claire proudly informs them. Callen looks around curiously; surely not _that_ much has changed. Children are hyper, loud little things who get everywhere, no matter what decade or even century they're in.

And then suddenly a blur of dark hair and dark clothes runs straight into his knees. Hands shoot out to steady the little boy, whom Claire identifies as Joey with a reproachful cluck.

"Sorry." The little boy, who can't be more than five or six, hangs his head sheepishly. He's up and babbling before Callen can even think to formulate a response. "Are you here to play? Are you? We have trains and blocks and storybooks, and we can all play, and Miss Claire says today we get to play extra long because it's Christmas! I think Christmas is awesome!"

G Callen has spent decades of his life dealing with people. Bad people, but still. Terrorists, traffickers, hardcore criminals. And he has taken them all down with a smirk on his face. Yet here, in the presence of a babbling, happy, lonely child, he finds himself speechless.

"Sure, kid," Kensi chirps, picking up where he can't. "I'm Kensi." She introduces herself, automatically sticking out her hand. The boy stares at her for a moment before taking her hand and using it to tow her along rather than shaking it.

"That's a funny name. I don't know any Kensi. But we have a Kendra! She's inside. Do you wanna come inside? We can play!"

Kensi smiles and ruffles Joey's hair with a fond look in her eyes. "Yeah, sure." He begins to pull her along and the other two women soon follow. Kensi stops in her tracks when she notices that Callen hasn't moved since Joey had run into him.

"Coming?" She calls questioningly as everyone else keeps moving. His eyes snap into focus as he offers her a smile accompanied by a brief period of contemplative silence. And then he nods.

"Yeah."

She offers him another encouraging smile and waits for him to catch up to her before they both exit the main space and finds themselves in a short hallway. The first door to their left is wide open and as they step in, squealing voices start cheering Hetty's name. Some of the children have been here long enough to remember her. Kensi finds it equal parts sweet and sad.

"Hetty! Hetty! Can we read again? This is my favorite!" A girl, probably around the age of five, stands out from the others with her shock of red hair and hands Hetty a book. It's old and worn and Kensi recognizes the title from when she herself was a child. Really, it was probably a part of most people's childhood.

"I think, Miss Esther," The little girl giggles at the way Hetty addresses her. "That we might have a new reader today." The room quiets down and the children seem equally disappointed and intrigued.

"A new reader?" One of them echoes questioningly.

Hetty turns to her agents and looks at Callen pointedly, who seems taken aback by this sudden turn. His eyes widen but he doesn't protest – Kensi knows he's too shocked to say anything but Hetty takes advantage of his silence.

"Yes, Mister Callen over there will read to you today." She smiles and as the children start calling out to him, Callen turns to Kensi with what she believes most people call a deer-in-headlights look. She's never seen him look so terrified, even though he does a good job of hiding it from the children. Kensi doesn't know what to do or say, now that Hetty's gotten the children's hopes up, and when the girl – Esther – starts tugging at Callen's shirt and hands him her book with a hopeful smile, it seems as if there is nothing to be done.

So Callen clears his throat and allows the children to lead him to the old armchair that sits by the window, and once the kids are seated in a ring around him, he begins reading from a book unlike any other Kensi has ever seen him read. She leans against the wall facing the little group and after a while, Hetty joins her with a proud smile on her face.

And when Callen starts smiling and laughing along with the children at the book's absurdity, she knows everything will be fine.

"Every _Who_ down in _Who_ -ville liked Christmas a lot…"

* * *

As it turns out, the children have prepared an entire collection of Dr. Seuss for today. Callen reads two and Hetty reads three, and even Kensi reads one in between playtime with the kids who are eager to show her just how high they can stack up their blocks.

A few hours pass and Claire announces dinner, prompting all twenty-seven children to drop their playthings and race to the kitchen, curious to see just what Hetty has brought them for Christmas. Two of the five bags had been groceries and Claire has single-handedly whipped up a meal for the kids, preparing enough food for her little army.

Awed murmurs and hushed cheers fill the room and the children pick up their cutlery in anticipation, resembling a storybook illustration with a fork in one hand and a knife or spoon in the other. Hetty takes one end of the table while Claire takes the other and Kensi notices that the younger children who need help with their food sit with the women while the older ones group in the middle.

The dinner table set for exactly thirty-one people is a collection of old, mismatched tables pushed together and the huge tablecloth is most likely a threadbare curtain or blanket. They dine on chipped plastic plates and paper cups. As soon as their keeper settles in, everyone starts attacking the food.

It's the best Christmas dinner Kensi's had in years.

Afterward, everyone pitches in to clean up before washing up for bed. The children are allowed to stay up until nine – an hour later than usual – to play and read – and each agent heads to a different room with nine children to read from the illustrated books Claire had passed out, three copies of the poem both Callen and Kensi had always thought was titled _'Twas The Night Before Christmas._

_A Visit From St. Nicholas_ is printed in bold red letters on the cover, which peels back to reveal the well-known first line. The children seem more taken by the colorful depictions of reindeer and Santa than the poem itself, but eventually settle down in bed and nod off midway through the text.

Hetty whispers the last lines before closing the book, smiling at the sight of nine children all tucked in and drifting away. Slowly, she rises from the rocking chair in the corner and begins to make her way to the door as stealthily as possible. A sliver of light steals into the room as she pulls back the door, shining directly on the little girl, Esther.

"Miss Hetty?" The girl mumbles sleepily, rubbing at her eyes and shielding them from the light.

"Yes, Miss Esther?" The elderly woman speaks with a smile, keeping her tone hushed to avoid waking up the rest of the room's occupants.

"Merry Christmas." Esther smiles a lopsided smile, missing her front teeth. Hetty chuckles softly to herself and nods in acknowledgement.

"Merry Christmas, dearie."

The girl's head hits her pillow just as Hetty shuts the door behind her. She climbs down the stairs, picking up on hushed conversation just downstairs. Both voices sound distinctly feminine, leading her to conclude that the person who emerges from a room just a few seconds after she begins to descend the stairs is none other than Mister Callen. She slows down, allowing him to catch up to her and they continue walking silently until they reach the last step.

"Thank you." Callen says quietly, sincerely. Hetty does not turn around to face him nor does she explore the subject.

"You're very welcome." She nods courteously and that, as they say, is that. They do not speak of Callen's interaction with the children or his ease at navigating a situation much like the one that haunts him, choosing instead to join Kensi and Claire, who thanks them repeatedly before showing them out.

Upon reaching their cars, Hetty bids them a simple goodnight and wishes them a merry Christmas before driving off and the couple soon follow suit, driving off in silence as the house disappears from view.

"That was fun." Kensi speaks up tentatively, gauging Callen's emotional condition. They stop at a red light and he turns to her with a small smile on his face.

"Yeah, it was." And she is relieved, so relieved, until he speaks again and she feels so, so happy. "We should do that again sometime."

She agrees with controlled enthusiasm, trying to hide her joy at his turn for the better but a quick glance shared between the two of them with a knowing smile on Callen's part tells her all she needs to know. He knows what he's saying, he knows that she knows and he's perfectly fine with it. And she begins to hope that maybe someday, he'll be alright.

They pull up to her place and she isn't even surprised when he gets out of the car with her, only taken aback when he pins her against the car.

"So Joey and I had a little talk." He shares casually, eyes bright with mirth.

"Really?" She asks dryly, playing along with whatever game he's playing.

"Yeah," Callen nods, moving the hand that had been pressed against the car next to her left side to retrieve something from his pocket. "And he thinks that I should do something."

"About what?" She challenges, maintaining a cool front even though she has absolutely no idea what he's talking about now.

"Us." He states simply and she begins to get curious. "So he got me some help." He says vaguely, only answering her question when he holds up a tiny, familiar sprig above their heads.

"Oh." She exclaims in response, eliciting a familiar grin from him. His eyes seem to be challenging her and she shrugs casually in return, as if accepting this unspoken challenge. "Well, tradition is tradition." She says nonchalantly as a grin begins to grace her face and she leans in, instinctively bringing her arms up to wrap her hands around his neck as his slip down from next to her shoulder to rest on her waist.

There's something different about the way he kisses her – there has been since exactly a month ago on Thanksgiving, when their little world had seemingly turned upside down and all of their casual shrugs and nonchalant words dismissing any suspicion of real feelings had been examined closely to reveal sincere, deep emotions. He kisses her like it means something and they both know it, and she thinks she could get used to this, to meaning something and doing meaningful things together and making out against his car in public because they don't have to hide from anyone anymore, not strangers or friends or even themselves.

And it's liberating and exciting and intoxicating, this rush of freedom that they've granted themselves. When he finally pulls back, he finds her smiling brighter than he's ever seen her smile and even though he has no idea what has her so happy, it's contagious and he finds himself smiling along even as he questions her.

"What?" He asks with a hint of laughter in her voice. She shakes her head, dismissing his question and leans in for a chaste kiss before speaking again.

"Merry Christmas, G."

And both of them are smiling so stupidly that they don't notice she's finally called him by his first name.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks. I toyed with the idea of staying in this universe but never did get around to writing more, and probably never will. It was fun while it lasted, though... right?


End file.
